Haxan full-circle, rockin’ tabula vibrations. The in road to finding out and the breach in the dam. Dropping from one planet to the next with star-trail drama and a belief in stationary detonation. It’s all about friction and that’s a fact. Suspended animation is no real progress without internal change, and cellular revolutions are impossible to capture with the naked eye. The self persecutor jumps from one hell to another carrying all he wishes to escape with him. His focus is concentrated on a point in time and space that is unreachable and therefore he cannot understand why he never gets any closer.
The conventional wisdom states that the past always catches up with you and there is an unsettling truth in this. Most interpret it to mean that a bad deed has a way of finding you further down the line; you can’t escape the past, they say, as if to imply it’s a physical being forever lurking in the shadows of your passing. Our thoughts dwell in the past and persuade us that we are vulnerable and insignificant without it and only faith in the future will bring us salvation. All of this is an intricate conflict that kids us into thinking we are making progress when the reality of it is that we are only spinning around the periphery of the present, too distracted to actually really be in the moment. The humming bird is totally focussed on nectar, we barely see the flower.
Eternal witchcraft and the precision of ritual belief. Who stole the fun from fundamental? Simplicity has been demonized in a myriad of rules and defective laws. Eyes upturned to the high tower, pyramid selling as an aspirational colossus and the belief that freedom will be found in the increase of all things:- an englishman’s jail is his castle. It’s never big enough, deep enough, real enough.... there must be more. Enslaved by the overseers and law makers via their warped education programs and media reenforcement our understanding and therefore our questions become limited and enclosed. Perception is strengthened by popularity, if the majority feel unified by their blinkers they will not seek to look at things differently; a subtle control with its origins in fear of the unknown. Certificated xenophobic graduates extruded from the sausage machine.
We complicate simplicity, we concentrate on time and believe it’s all in the mind. The real creativity should not be considered or debated but accepted and allowed. In this way it can be all things simultaneously and fills the air like bright sand thrown high, evading description to fall randomly in a way like none other before or since. It is now.
Dense palpitations roam in wolf’s clothing, limping, dragging and howling at a plastic moon. The car parks are full of bright shapes and involuntary screams. Mothers and fathers panic as their children dissolve into radiant black pools, a youthful oil that might keep the machine blundering through a few more useless cycles of self-destruction. The audience doesn’t know if the show has started or finished, the theme music is a razor catching sunlight whilst threadbare furniture belches toxic flames at the prophylactic atmosphere. Dentists teeter on the edge of the cavity whilst the bleach freaks insist that germination is a problem we must all face together if we are to survive. No one dare breathe but most do, no one makes a sound but silence cannot find a way in. The alternative star-children have been booked for a mid-week show and the word on the grapevine is there’s no wine and no fish but lycra clad girls with irritable skin are already sewing tickets with cat-gut for the great banjo shoot out. Madness is a bi-product of conformity and no one really believes it’ll happen to them but still search out competitive insurance rates just incase and just because.
It’s hard not to heed the warnings these days, they’re packaged so seductively and that pretty smile has sex appeal even for the over sixties. Murder is old hat and abuse is over-priced and under pressure. They say it’s going to be taxed soon along with rapid eye movement and momentary reflections.